“Okay, mum’s the word.” Claire ran her thumb and forefinger across her lips.
Marc pushed away his food container. Supper had lost what little flavor it had had. He pulled out his cell phone. “It’s not six yet. If you don’t mind, I’m going to go into the other room and see if I can catch the lawyer before she leaves. I’ll let you know later what I decide.”
“That’s fine. I’ll be praying for you and Stella.”
“I appreciate it,” he said, powering up his phone to see Stella’s baby face smiling at him from the screen. He didn’t want to admit it, but he could see Fiona in her. He was going to need all the prayers he could get.
Lost in her thoughts, Fiona almost missed the turn into the Hazardtown Community Church parking lot. Meeting with Pastor Connor seemed like a good idea. Marc had contacted her all businesslike on Monday with a couple items his partners wanted to include in the contract between the research farm and the restaurant partnership. Then he’d tackled the elephant in the room with an invitation to talk with him and Pastor Connor tonight about her claim that Stella was her niece.
Stepping from her car, she kicked a muddy chunk of snow out of her path. She knew in her heart that the little girl was her niece. And she had no intention of contesting Stella’s adoption. After her failure with Mairi, she didn’t want the responsibility of Stella, only to be part of her extended family.
Fiona walked into the church, the door closing behind her with a soft thud. The pastor’s office was almost directly in front of her, as Marc had told her on the phone. Or she assumed it was the pastor’s office. The door was open, but she didn’t see anyone, only a desk with a computer and some bookshelves.
She stood in the doorway bumping her knee against her briefcase. It was nearly six thirty, the time they’d set. She knew she was in the right place. Marc had given her the choice of meeting at the pastor’s office here or at his home. When he’d mentioned that the pastor was his brother-in-law, she’d hesitated before deciding they’d be on more equal grounds at the church. Fiona smoothed the wrinkles from the skirt of her green linen dress.
Or maybe not. From what she’d seen, Marc and his family were active in the church. While Fiona considered herself a believer, she hadn’t attended any church regularly since she’d worked in Guam, and then it was more because most of her neighbors and the people she worked with attended services than any real compulsion to be part of a church community.
“Here’s the video of him and Natalie.”
A male voice sounded from behind an almost closed door at the back of the room. A door that at first glance had appeared to lead to a closet. But it had a sign: Pastor’s Office.
“I’ve got one of Stella on the rug in the church hallway this morning after preschool, showing me how she learned to do a somersault.”
Marc. Fiona crossed the outer office toward the men’s chuckles, hungry to see the video of Stella. She stopped herself from barging in and knocked on the door instead.
“Come in,” Pastor Connor said.
She pushed the door open.
“Hi. Take a seat. Marc and I were kid-video warring.”
He handed her his phone as she took the chair next to Marc, facing the desk.
“My son, Luc,” he said, “dancing to my wife’s piano playing.”
The toddler in the video stole her voice for a minute. He was a miniature Marc. “Cute.” She smiled and handed back the phone.
“Obviously, he takes after Natalie’s side of the family, but that’s certainly not a bad thing.”
Another Delacroix sister. Fiona glanced sideways at Marc. No, not a bad thing at all.
“For you, it’s a good thing.” Marc razzed his brother-in-law. “You should be grateful.”
Fiona repositioned herself in her chair, unsettled by the easy back-and-forth between the two men and uncertain that Marc and Connor’s apparent closeness was a good thing for her, if Connor was going to mediate. “So, what did you have in the competition?” she asked, turning to Marc in an effort to join the friendly banter.
He tilted his head, looking confused. “Oh.” He followed her gaze to his phone. “A video of Stella doing a somersault.” He made no move to share it.
She swallowed away the painful tightness in her throat and focused her attention on Pastor Connor.
“Let’s begin with prayer.” He reached his hands across the desk to her and Marc.
Marc took her hand as if it were the perfectly natural thing to do. Maybe it was for them. They were family. She tightened her jaw and curved her fingers around Marc’s hand. She was Stella’s family, too.
“Dear Lord, be with us this evening and, with Your infinite wisdom, give Marc and Fiona and myself the guidance we need to do Your will. In Jesus’s name, amen.”
“Amen,” she whispered, lifting her head when the men released her hands.
“I talked with the lawyer who handled Stella’s adoption,” Marc said, moving a folder from his left to front and center on the desk. “Copies of all of the documents are here.”
“Wait.” Pastor Connor laid his palm on top of the folder. “I have a good idea of what you want out of this meeting, Marc. I need to know what Fiona wants. Then we can get to details.”
“First and foremost, stability.” Fiona paused. “My mother moved us around a lot, looking for something better that she never found. She died when I was nineteen and Mairi was fifteen.” She faltered, not used to talking about her family. “I’m only asking for a part in Stella’s life as her aunt. I don’t want to contest the adoption. I have no doubt it’s valid or that Stella is where she’s supposed to be.”
Marc’s chair creaked as he leaned forward. “You said you had proof Stella’s your niece.”
Connor frowned at the interruption.
“I do.” Fiona lifted her case onto the desktop. “I’ve made copies of everything I have. But I think this is the proof you want.” She lifted the papers from the case and placed them in front of Marc with a photo of Mairi at three and her at seven on top.
He sucked in a breath.
Fiona had felt the same sucker punch when she’d gotten out the battered family photo album Friday after her appointment with Autumn. There was no way anyone could deny the family resemblance.
She’d claimed the album as a child. It had come with her when, after her stepfather had left, her mother had dragged Fiona, Mairi and their baby sister, Elsbeth, all over northern Vermont and New Hampshire from each promised new start to the next. She’d brought it with her when she and Mairi had moved to Ithaca after their mother’s fatal accident, so Fiona could attend college. And the album had made the trip to Guam and back.
She cleared her throat. “Certified copies of my, Mairi’s and Stella’s birth certificates and the Ticonderoga Birthing Center’s record of Stella’s birth,” she said for Pastor Connor’s benefit.
“Where did you get the birth certificate for Stella?” Marc asked. “My understanding is that her original one is in the sealed records at the adoption agency.”
“I don’t know about that. The certificate I have was in an envelope addressed to me with a letter my sister never sent.” Fiona stopped so her voice wouldn’t crack. “I had no idea until I received a package from the lawyer I hired to settle Mairi’s estate. It came the day after we